Having A Ball
by UnseenLibrarian
Summary: Hermione plays to win. So does Draco.


**Author's Notes:** This was originally written for the 2016 DramioneLove Mini-Fest. My prompt was "fiercely competitive, talking smack, croquet". My dorm mates and I played a lot of extreme croquet in college. It's so much fun! I highly recommend it. In this story, I took a couple of liberties with the rules. I don't think a ball is ever permanently out of play in croquet. However, with extreme wizarding croquet, who can say?

Many thanks to my lovely beta, "D"!

 **Disclaimer:** "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

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Hermione stalked toward the clearing. She knew it had to be there. There was no other place for it to have rolled, based on the terrain of the area, the ground cover, the prevailing winds...

There it was. At last. Malfoy's blue croquet ball, looking super-shiny as if it hadn't just rolled through acres of mud and cowshite.

Hermione had played regular nine-wicket croquet as a child. Even back then, she'd played to win. She'd always chosen the orange ball, which, according to the rules, went last. This tactic allowed her knock out everyone else's balls as she navigated the course, allowing her to finish unhindered. After a while, the game had become dull.

Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes' Extreme Wizarding Croquet was _much_ more fun and challenging. She was playing with Ron, Harry, their girlfriends Pansy and Luna, and Draco Malfoy. Most of them had been effectively eliminated. Harry and Ron were looking for their red and black balls somewhere in the Swamp of Odious Odours. Luna's yellow ball had decided to hatch, and Pansy's green ball was probably orbiting Mercury by now.

This was her first time playing against Malfoy, however. He was good. He'd stayed ahead of her all game.

She'd navigated her orange ball through the eighth hoop without incident. " _Orange Penetrates Eight_ ," the wicket's magical alarm had screeched. Now, there were only Draco's blue ball and the ninth wicket between her and victory.

She practised swinging her mallet. She needed to angle her stroke precisely so her ball would smack squarely into Draco's. Then she'd have the legitimate right to knock his ball out of play.

"When your ball hits another, it's officially called a _roquet_. It's a _croquet_ when you use your ball to knock the roqueted ball aside," Malfoy had lectured her earlier. "I've roqueted and croqueted many a ball in my time, Granger. I'll show you who the real croquet master here is."

"Dream on, Malfoy," she'd retorted, shouldering her mallet. "You won't be getting anywhere near my ball. Not until I'm _croqueting_ your ball permanently out of play."

"Oh, you'd love to get your hands on my balls, wouldn't you, Granger," he'd replied, a sly grin gracing his handsome, pointy face.

She'd tried to ignore the tingly way her stomach had _swooped_. "You've only got one ball that I care to handle, Malfoy, but I'd wager it's as blue as your other ones."

She'd smirked as he'd spluttered. The gong to start the game had sounded, preventing him from replying. Five points for Hermione!

That had been three hours ago. Since then, all six players had been chasing their balls through the wilderness. By WWWEWC rules, the game's nine wickets were hidden in obstacle course fashion around the Weasley homestead. Once successfully navigated, each wicket was charmed to give out a cheeky clue for finding the next one. As an added twist, each player was sent in a different direction. The nine wickets were not in the same order for everyone.

Except for some reason, the twins had programmed the game to keep Hermione on the same path as Draco. She knew there was some nefarious purpose to their scheme—after all, this was Fred and George—but she couldn't dwell on that. She had to focus on winning. She'd been dogging Malfoy's heels all afternoon. Now, she was finally going to pass him.

She readied herself. She needed to tap her ball firmly against Draco's ball to properly _roquet_ before _croqueting_ it into the gorse bushes.

She swung her orange mallet back between her legs, took a deep breath, and began the downward swing.

Just before her mallet struck home, she thought, "Where _is_ Draco, anyway?"

 _WHACK!_ Her orange ball sailed into the air. Merlin's toes, she'd hit it too hard! She watched in dismay as her ball flew through the air three feet off the ground. It would never hit Malfoy's blue ball at that height!

Suddenly, there was Malfoy, obliviously entering the clearing. He was zipping up his fly—after an apparent potty break behind a tree—and he was walking right into her orange ball's path.

Her hard, wooden ball. A ball three times the size of a Snitch. A ball that would really hurt if it hit any part of the human anatomy.

Especially soft parts.

 ** _WHAM!_**

"Eeeeeee!" Draco screamed like a little girl and fell to the ground, clutching his groin.

"Malfoy!" Hermione ran to him, heedless of the mallet in her hand. Draco saw her coming and threw one hand up to defend himself.

"Get away!" he wheezed. "Come to finish me off, have you?"

Her orange ball was shrieking. "Error! Foul play in the Spinney! Illegal Ball-to-Human Contact! Hermione Granger is disquali—"

"Shut up, you." Hermione smashed her mallet down onto the ball, which sank into the mud and fell silent.

She threw the mallet aside and dropped down beside Draco. "I'm so sorry, Malfoy! I didn't do that on purpose! I was aiming for your ball."

Draco groaned, "You hit them."

"That's not what I meant..."

"Still true."

"What can I do?" She leaned over him. "Let me see, are you injured?" She reached for his belt buckle but immediately yanked her hand back, blushing. "Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

Suddenly Draco chuckled in a distinctly uninjured tone. She narrowed her eyes at him. He took her hands in his.

"I know you've been dying to get into my pants, Granger. You could have simply asked."

He pulled her down and kissed her. Hermione was so surprised she kissed him back. When they stopped to catch their breath, she stared at him.

"What was that for?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"But you're hurt! Aren't you?"

Draco smirked. "Nope." He flicked a finger against his trouser fly. There was a faint ringing noise. "I'm wearing one of the newly-patented _Weasleys' Watch-Your-Willie Wonder Cups._ It's meant for Quidditch players, but it works a treat on the croquet pitch too."

"But, you screamed so realistically."

"Don't you know by now that I'm good at many things, Granger? Quidditch, croquet, poetry, acting—"

"Humility."

"That, too. And kissing."

He had a valid point.

"Shut up and kiss me, Granger."

She did, after nudging his blue ball under the closest gorse bush with her foot.

 _ **~ FIN ~**_


End file.
